


Art says more than words

by DropsOfJupiterOnARavenclaw



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Emotionally Repressed, Falling In Love, Feelings, Fix-It of Sorts, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Memory Loss, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Modern Era, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Repressed Memories, Romance, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-30 04:14:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18307991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DropsOfJupiterOnARavenclaw/pseuds/DropsOfJupiterOnARavenclaw
Summary: Back in the 40's Steve used to sketch Bucky to make some sense of the feelings he had for his best friend. Now in the 21st century, they are reunited and Bucky is struggling to regain his memories when suddenly Steves old drawings are found. The public immediately recognizes Bucky, who they still think is dead, but are completely in the dark as to who the artist behind the sketches is. The only thing the people are certain of is that whoever drew Barnes like that must have been deeply in love with him.





	1. Chapter 1

New York Times,  
History, Art and Popular News edition

A considerable collection of sketches from the supposedly early '40s was found in an abandoned basement when the building was given up for renovations. Some of them show landscapes or impressions of the time in all forms, but more than 1/4 of them focus on nothing but one James Buchanan Barnes.  
Despite the repetitive motive choice they all are intriguing in their own way, showing real glimpses of life, shedding some light on the shadows of the past, of who the soldier everyone knows as Captain Americas Sidekick, really was.  
They show him, sitting under a willow in the sun, smirking mischievously at whoever was drawing him. They show him sitting in a small dimly lit apartment, studying a deck of cards in his hands seemingly facing the artist. They show him lounging on a bed, engrossed in a book.  
It was hard to pinpoint what was so intriguing about those sketches; that it was the famous James Barnes portrayed in them, that they showed him as something completely else than the history books made him out to be, that the moments frozen in time appeared like intimate snapshots that couldn't have lasted as long as it would take someone to draw them, or that the artist seemed to know him so close up and personal that there were no guards upon his face.  
Maybe it was the fact that the artist was always the one the soldier was looking at and it, therefore, appeared like he was looking right at anyone now admiring the art.  
No matter what it was, it drew great attention to the mysterious series and artist, completely beside the fact that the works were all completed with great care and almost obsessive details. Even if the background was cold, dimly lit or sometimes even only hinted at and then neglected in harsh contrast to the center of attention, there was always something warm about the man in the center, some kind of all over evident admiration.  
It only adds to the mystery that none of the works are signed with anything but 'R.' It is widely speculated that Barnes must have at one point had a longtime girlfriend with an interest in art but there are no records of who she could have been since he never got married.  
After the artworks were found they have been closely examined by experts. Quickly it became evident that no more precise information could be deduced from them then what was visible. They were added to the Smithsonian History Museums Captain America Exhibition where they were immediately given a complete room to themselves, framed by theories about their distinction, artist, and Barnes' life story.  
The new part of the exhibition opens for the first time this coming Saturday, tickets, however, are already sold out.  
It remains unclear whether Captain America himself can make some sense of the puzzling situation since he has not given any kind of public statement about them, nor has he followed experts pleas to take a look at the sketches.  
It is not news that he prefers to remain secretive with anything concerning his private life and we can only guess that this also applies to the current situation, which can only be accepted.  
Some mysteries just aren't meant to be solved even though we can only guess what the future might bring. Despite their unclear heritage, the artworks remain stunning and possibly the most interesting find of the century, as the new star of the Smithsonian Museum they are definitely worth a visit.

Steve sighed heavily as he finished reading the article in front of him for what had to be the fourth or fifth time. The words were starting to become familiar but he still struggled to wrap his mind around them. Never in a million years had he expected this to happen, what was worse was that people seemed to care about it.  
At least remaining stance-free had worked so far, even though he was under no illusion that reporters would stop pressing him on the matter any time soon.

He took another sip of his coffee and was oddly glad that none of the other Avengers were there for breakfast that morning as he unruly pushed his hair back again and questioned if there was anything he could do. But there wasn't. He had only just gotten Bucky back, these stupid sketches should be at the very bottom of his priority list. Till less than a week ago he had assumed they had gotten lost or destroyed sometime during or after the war. Afterall no one would have had a reason to keep them, and yet they somehow still existed.  
Under other circumstances he would have been happy that any of his belongings made it through time with him, but not those, not like this. It was to go insane over.  
Bucky was still recovering, struggling to remember who he was and some tiny part in the back of Steves' head wondered if seeing the sketches might help with that. He pushed down the thought as quickly as it came. No way would that be a good idea, that would only further confuse Bucky if anything.  
The only thing he could do was hope that nobody figured out whose drawings they were and maybe one day, if Bucky should regain his full memory, he could take him to the Smithsonian and show him everything. Afterall Buck hadn't even seen most of the sketches back in the day, Steve had always been extremely careful to hide them.  
Now, however, he thought with a sinking feeling in his stomach, they were all out in the open and it was only a matter of time till Buck would stumble upon them anyways. He had to avoid that at all cost, he decided, his mind freezing in terror of his friends' possible reaction.  
If even the freaking newspaper already insisted the artworks had to have been created by an admiring girlfriend there was no hope in fooling Buck since he'd know for certain that there was only one person who could be behind that.  
Buck did not yet remember of what nature their relationship had been, just how close they used to be. And fate be damned, Steve didn't actually know for sure either. Yes, they were closer than appropriate for two men in their time but they never put a definition on what they were. They were only just figuring it out and didn't exactly have much time to do so.  
Every time he thought about what they could have had he was hit with a weird wave of melancholia, sure times were better now but he didn't want an easy life if it didn't include Bucky. Suddenly Bucks dog tag which he still wore around his neck, hidden under his shirt, seemed to weigh a thousand pounds.  
Steve had been so eager to jump right back to where they had left off when he finally got Bucky back, the realization that that wouldn't be possible had hit him like a train. All he could do was wait and hope, be there but careful not to pressure him too much, it was driving Steve insane and not fair for Bucky either.  
The idea of taking him to look at the sketches seemed like a naive daydream, even to the ever-optimistic Steve Rogers.  
For all he knew they were years away from that kind of progress. Even if Buckys full memory was recovered one day, there was no guarantee that his feelings hadn't changed or that they had been there in the first place. This whole situation was giving him a headache.  
Emptying his coffee in one big gulp he finally let go of the newspaper. The warm drink made the world appear lighter for just a second, no matter how badly his life went to shit he could always count on coffee, he noted with mild satisfaction. With one last glance at the paper, he got up and stretched, there was one thing in his favor after all he remembered. Lucky for him the public did not yet know that Bucky was alive and for all that he knew that wasn't supposed to change anytime soon.  
As long as nobody other than the Avengers and selected members of Shield knew that Bucky was alive there was no one who was going to ask him about the sketches either. Other than those very people of course, he thought and quickly decided to talk to Tony the next chance he got.  
He didn't have to wait nearly as long for that as be had expected since Tony chose just that moment to make his presence in the kitchen known, "Thank god, I thought you were frozen again, I didn't think it was possible to stare at one piece of paper for that long," Tony had apparently been leaning against the doorframe and now walked into the kitchen, a cup of coffee in hand and a calculating look on his face.  
Steve tensed in surprise but he didn't flinch, "Jesus Christ-" Steve exclaimed and was promptly interrupted.  
"No just me, even though I heard the resemblance is startling," Tony shrugged nonchalantly, "I'd rather be me, to be honest," he sat down at the kitchen table half yawning.  
Lord give me patience, Steve thought and exhaled deeply, it was way too early for this, "Tony, how long have you been standing there?" he asked instead of doing him the favor of acknowledging his joke.  
Tony put his cup down and looked at him critically, "long enough to know that whatever this is, it's bothering you. If there was a price for the best smoldering frown of patriotic disapproval, you would have won it this morning."  
Steve looked away, immediately trying to relax his face. Tony chuckled, "and I have a rather good idea what it is that got your trademark idealism in a twist, even though I'm not quite sure why," he said, and snatched the newspaper away from Steve. He merely as much as glanced at the title before dropping it again, "thought so," he declared as if he had just won a board-game.  
Steve was growing increasingly uncomfortable, there was no way Tony had guessed that he was the one behind those sketches, or was there? After all, there hardly would be any other reason for Steve to be upset about this stupid article, on the contrary, he should be happy about it. He sighed, "is this incredibly enlightening conversation leading somewhere or can I go?" he hoped that his dismay carried more in his voice than his discomfort or otherwise Tony would never let him go.  
"No reason to go all grumpy on me old man," he replied, hardly raising an eyebrow at Steves tone, "So, care to explain what this is about? In all his stories about you, my father never mentioned Barnes having some girl waiting for him. Before you turn me down, I think you will be interested to know that I have called in a favor to go looking at the drawings before the official museum opening. If you would like to you can join me but I'm going either way. Might ask Natasha if you decline," he leaned back in his chair watching Steve smugly.  
Fantastic, just fantastic, he thought. He really would have liked to simply decline but he couldn't let Natasha go, that would be his doom. And even if he wasn't willing to admit it to himself yet, he was curious how well his sketches had made it through time and was itching to observe what other people might see when looking at them.  
He cursed himself, Tony and this whole century inwardly before saying, "sure, I will come with you," not giving away any emotion.  
To his great dismay, Tony flashed him a smile like he had just won another round of whatever game they were playing, "great. Be ready by two."  
He had the feeling that this was going to be a long day.


	2. Chapter 2

At point 2:00, Steve found himself in front of the Smithsonian Museum. Staring up at the white facade he knew that what was behind them had the power to change his life for the better or the worse, and forward was the only way to go no matter how scary that was. He had been certain that time had buried his few secrets for good, now having one of them catch up with him in such an extreme manner was unexpected, to say the least.

Back then he would have loved to see his works in a museum, anonym or not, but now? The irony hadn't escaped him, this truly was a dream turned into a nightmare. Lately, it was as if fate found it funny to take what he wished for and give him a turned and twisted version causing only more worries instead. He thought of Bucky and decided that some things were still worth it, worries or not.

Just this morning after his conversation with Tony he had gone to see him in the medical ward of Avengers Tower. Every day he was improving, the fact alone that he had found the strength and enough of who he used to be that he turned himself in was more than impressive. That he had trusted Steve enough without even remembering him to take such a leap of faith still did funny things to Steves' heart whenever he tried to comprehend that.

The doctors responsible for his recovery had insisted that he would only truly recover if he remembered on his own, just telling him about his past could create false memories with no emotions attached to them. Which essentially would create a void filled with movie like memories that wouldn't help his personality to come back, just the idea of who he used to be. It was hard to avoid everything, they had very strict guidelines on what they could and couldn't talk about but whenever Bucky regained a memory he'd ask Steve about it for confirmation and they'd go over it in depth. It was a new victory each time, no matter how small.

In the beginning, it hadn't even been real memories, only faces without names, or names without faces, detached places, and phrases all floating around in his head, Steve could hardly imagine what that must feel like. The beginning had been difficult; Bucky being impatient and frustrated was barely able to cooperate, still filled with cold rage above anything else, but a month into his recovery he had one day suddenly looked right at Steve and said, "we used to share an apartment in Brooklyn. We had a cat, its name was.... We never named it did we?" he sounded so confused and tired and hopeless after dozens of memories that had turned out to be inaccurate. But this one was accurate, and Steve could have yelled it off the rooftops for everyone in the city to hear.

Instead, he jumped out of his chair, with the widest smile on his face and attempted to hug Bucky, who stood weirdly unmoving but didn't flinch away either. Buck just said, "why didn't we name the cat?" In that moment none of his worries mattered, he just suddenly knew that someday they'd be okay for whatever that even meant.

This morning when he had visited Bucky there for once were no doctors around, which also was good because it meant they trusted Bucky enough to leave him alone. They had played cards while going over some of the things Bucky did remember. Barely five minutes into the meeting Steve noted that there was something off, that Bucky was quieter than usual and appeared deep in thought.

He didn't comment on it, usually, that meant that a new memory was about to find its way back so he just waited in quiet anticipation. Whenever that happened he tried his best to play it cool, Bucky didn't take well to it the few times in the beginning when Steve had obviously gotten his hopes up and it had turned out to be a false alarm. It was as if Bucky was afraid to disappoint him as if that could ever be the case. So now he'd just quietly wait. Hoping and at the same time terrified about the possibility that it might be something about their relationship that Bucky remembered.

Shortly before Steve had to go, Bucky suddenly stopped him, asked him to sit down on the couch with him for just a minute. It turned out to be several minutes. The dark blue couch in the corner of Buckys room was their usual spot for serious conversation, so naturally he stiffened and remembered every mistake he had ever made in his life as he sat down.

Buck remained silent for a long time but in a focused way, not like in the first few days when his eyes would dart across the room like crazy, expecting pain at any second. So they just sat in silence, till Steve reached out and carefully put one hand on Bucky's arm. On a bad day that was all the contact Bucky could stand. Even though today wasn't one of those bad days it was better to stay on the safe side just in case.

Unexpectedly, Bucky found it in himself to relax a little and even leaned closer to Steve. Then he said in a hushed voice, "I don't know how to address this. It's another memory. Help me, stop me immediately if something sounds strange to you, okay?" he asked. If Steve hadn't already been on the edge of his seat that would have certainly done the trick. His throat dried up but he immediately nodded, "okay," he promised his voice all hoarse.

It really wasn't fair, after all this time his heart still fluttered when Buck looked at him, as if it needed to remind him that nothing mattered as much as the man he was with.

Bucky inhaled deeply, "so back in the day, when I was in the army, I had one of these dog tags all soldiers have," he looked at Steve waiting for a reaction, when he didn't get one he continued, "I gave mine to you. For some reason that was a big deal, I think I wasn't supposed to do that but I wanted you to have it so badly, I didn't care," he spoke slowly, each word difficult to piece together, "I think I gave it to you after something big happened, spontaneously, and there were others who saw what I did. I don't know who they were but I trusted them enough not to care," he clenched his jaw for just a second, trying once more to remember who those people were.

"it still scared me when I realized what I had done. They never said anything though, and I was really thankful about that," he paused and took another deep breath, clearly giving Steve the chance to interrupt if anything should have been wrong, "I really don't get why though, that shouldn't be that big of a deal, or at least I felt like it shouldn't be. You always wore it, never took it off, only hid it sometimes depending on who we were with," he actually smiled a little about that, "knowing that always made me feel better, even though I'm not sure why," he cleared his throat.

"So how did I do? All nonsense or?" Steve beamed at him, pulling him into a tight hug he chuckled a little. When he let go, he really hoped there were no tears in his eyes. Not trusting his own voice at the moment he instead of answering just pulled the dog tag out from under his shirt. Bucky's breath hitched with something like relief and he hugged Steve again, longer this time, "I'm glad that you kept it. It still makes me happy to see you wear it," he mumbled and Steve pulled him closer.

That moment alone made him feel like they were back in their apartment all those years ago, not caring what anybody else thought about how close they were. They were comfortable in their closeness and it was all that mattered, not only that but Bucky was starting to seek that closeness again when at first he had avoided being touched like nothing else. It was progress.

Steve ached to complete the memory, to say that Buck had already been worried back then about the strange looks they got from anyone but the howling commandos, who had been the ones present when Buck gave him the tag. That he had feared their team would now look at them strangely too, only to find that they didn't care. After that they had let their guard drop a little, at least under the eyes of their bemused friends, they'd sit huddled closely together by the fire after a mission. Their team would joke that the great Captain America had emotions after all and they'd joke, and pretend like they weren't cold, hungry and in the middle of a war.

Someday those memories would be Buckys again, and with them would come grief about the friends and the life they had lost, but also the knowledge that that life had mattered, had impacted others, hadn't been for nothing, hadn't been just miserable. Even if it would be painful at first, deep down Steve knew that in the end, Bucky would be able to value those memories, to look back on them with a smile.

He still loved Bucky, after all this time and even when he was only half of who he used to be, it didn't matter. It just took time to relearn the way in which they fit together but the chemistry that had first brought them together was still there.

He shook off the memories quickly and braced himself for what was to come when he saw Tony approaching, uncharacteristically on time at 2:05. Tony clapped him on the shoulder once, offering an awkward half smile that made Steve wonder just how drunk on melancholy he looked.

They barely exchange a word as they made their way through the museum. It wasn't supposed to open until four that day and Tony had somehow produced a master key for the building so they were the only ones present. Walking through the empty halls of historical artifacts would have felt ghostly under any under circumstances but he was way to occupied with his thoughts to even notice.

Finally, they reached the Captain America Exhibit, which still made him feel odd, having an exhibition at a museum dedicated to him wasn't something anybody could be prepared for. He ignored the absurdity and instead allowed himself a moment to look around at pictures of familiar faces and artifacts that were long outdated but completely ordinary to him. They passed all of it without pausing only to halt in front of a solid black door. Tony unlocked it and let them in quickly, he said something, probably a joke, but Steve wasn't listening. His heart was beating rapidly, why, he wasn't exactly sure.

The door swung open dramatically slow and his heart dropped. He walked into the warmly illuminated room, step by step like in trance, barely hearing the echo he caused, barely aware of Tony a few steps behind him. Half of the Artworks he had completely forgotten about but instantly remembered each and every one of them and the work he had put into them on the first glance. He couldn't help but see it too, the newspaper hadn't lied. A fair share of them was all about Bucky and there was an indescribable air of longing about them. Not only that, but the expression in Bucky's eyes, staring at him from every corner of the room at different angles, was always so alive.

That was the man he had fallen in love with, who he still loved. Yes, Bucky had changed but so had he and if anything it had helped him realize just how much he needed Bucky. Still, he would do anything to see that lightheartedness in his real eyes again, that hope, and something else entirely that he couldn't quite distinguish.

Breathing flatly he stepped forward, like bound to what was in front of him he focused on the different pieces one by one. Each one represented a memory and he couldn't bring himself to decide if they made him happy or sad. The story of his current life really, he once again was torn between present and past.

One of his personal favorites hung in the very center. It showed Bucky smiling openly, looking down through long lashes and holding the hand of someone who was cut out of the frame, only a wrist visible. Steves hand and wrist. He swallowed heavily, at least that wasn't something anyone would guess since his hand had been a lot smaller back then.

He walked further down the room, bracing himself for other works he might have forgotten about. In the very corner, as if the museum hadn't wanted to bring to much attention to it, hung a single last drawing and it made his insides freeze up in shock. Nobody could ever find out that he had drawn this.

On the first look it was innocent enough, simple to gloss over. It was just Bucky, peacefully asleep with tousled hair and relaxed features, his head resting on a pillow. However, like with most of the other artworks, it was the perspective that made the difference; it was drawn in first person point of view from the perspective of someone lying across from Buck in bed, staring intently at his features.

Steve remembered that morning, how they had woken up in bed next to each other and his cheeks turned pink when he thought of how they had gotten there. The morning itself had been one of the happiest of his life, the pure luck he had felt in that moment was why he simply had had to sketch it. Even now that it could expose him ultimately he could hardly regret it. Like transfixed he stared at the paper in front of him and wished for it to go up in flames at the same time as he wished to be back in that moment.

"Hey Cap, have you even been listening to me? You know, you could really appreciate me bringing you here a bit more, it wasn't exactly easy to get that favor, as you would know if you had listened to me," Tony mocked, only mildly annoyed.

Struggling to zone back in he replied only half listening, "Um, yeah thanks Tony," he said lamely, his head was spinning. What were his chances that nobody would ever find out? How long would it take for Bucky to find out? How would he react? The questions just kept coming.

"Rogers?? Snap out of it, and tell me what the story behind this is. Come on, you can't tell me that you didn't know about this as obsessed as you are with Barnes. Or are you just jealous that you are not the only artist in his life, Rogers?," he said teasingly, "Even though I have to admit it is rather puzzling since there were no records of him being in a longterm relationship and the drawings span over quite some time, .....oh?" Tony stopped mid-sentence.

Steves' heart stopped and it suddenly became painful to breathe. He sent one last desperate prayer to the heavens but it was too late. He slowly turned to face Tony who was still staring at him. Tony, however, stared past him at the dozens and dozens of lovingly detailed artworks, all signed with only the letter 'R.'

Steve sighed, here we go, he thought as Tony finally met his gaze with an unreadable expression. "...were there any other artist in Barnes life that you had to be jealous of or should I tell the Smithsonian to give back the whole collection because the artist is still alive and they didn't ask him for permission?" Tony asked, surprisingly calm and yet clearly taken aback. Whatever he had expected out of this trip, this wasn't it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiii, today's chapter is a little longer simply because I had the time :) I hope you enjoyed! Please pleaseeee comment what you thought :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hii, I hope you enjoyed reading!  
> This will be a relatively short story and should be finished soon. Comments and Kudos mean the world to me! Please let me know what you thought while reading :)


End file.
